


Hurry, Boy

by Flynncantation



Category: South Park
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, Fluffy, M/M, Marriage, My favourite song, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 08:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynncantation/pseuds/Flynncantation
Summary: Craig’s taste in music often comes into question, and Tweek knows music. But if it makes him act this way, Tweek thinks, then he really doesn’t mind at all.





	Hurry, Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is very PG for me : D But I took inspiration this morning listening to the song in question. 
> 
> Africa by Toto. One of my favourite songs in the world. 
> 
> Recommend listening to it with the fic, if you can!

Tweek is in the middle of grating carrots when he hears it, the electronic bass pounding dun dun-dun du-dun-dun-duuun! Briefly he pauses, taking a moment to figure out what song Craig has just cranked up the volume for on Alexa (a new addition to their living room that they adore).

Vegetables are neatly arranged on top of a wooden chopping board with a zing-sharp chef grade knife set beside it, ready. A chunky, marbled slab of sirloin rests nearby wrapped in white plastic. It cost forty bucks but Tweek always says, buy cheap vegetables, but buy the best quality meat you can afford.

Technically they can’t but sometimes Tweek likes to pretend, and one day he’s sure these kinds of luxuries with their frequency won’t seem so luxurious. He sets the grater down on the side, wiping his hands off on his apron and heading out of the kitchen, following the lull of the music with a fond smile teasing his lips as the songs grows more distinct.

Craig, dressed in old jeans and a band shirt (one of Tweek’s, brand new, stone grey and of course, freshly washed) is standing with his back to the door, swaying skinny hips with the soothing beat of the drums.

“Haven’t heard you play this in a while.” Tweek is smiling, lips quirked, just as the first lyric is teetering.

And as it does, Craig dramatically spins, lifting his balled fist to his mouth and singing, mostly in key, “ _I hear the drums echoing tonight!”_

Tweek releases a sudden, surprised laugh. _“But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation~.”_ Craig saunters closer to him, hips over-swaying with every sung syllable. “ _She's coming in,12:30 flight, the moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation~.”_

Craig is taking his performance remarkably seriously, gripping Tweek’s hips, encouraging him to sway along with him. Tweek does - he’s never one to turn down impromptu dancing, least of all with Craig who tends to refer to his own dancing style as old before it’s time. To this Tweek usually says maybe it would improve if he updated his music taste from the era before the internet.

  
_“I stopped an old man along the way, hoping to find some long forgotten words or ancient melodies_ ~.” Craig presses a fleeting kiss to Tweek’s lips, doesn’t linger; the next line arriving soon after. “ _He turned to me as if to say, "Hurry boy—_ “

Craig reaches around to squeeze his ass, and Tweek yelps, giggling and swatting him away. “ _It’s waiting there for you!”_

It’s rare Tweek sees Craig so utterly carefree, even when he sinks into his music on a Saturday night, his estranged songs from decades gone by. He plays them through his dad’s old earphones from the same era as Craig’s taste in music, an item he’s sentimental about and treasures so much he still sets them back in their case after every use.

Craig lets go of his hips, bringing the imaginary microphone back up to his lips and bellowing, “ _It's gonna take a lot to take me away from you! There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do! I bless the rains down in Aaaafrica! Gonna take some time to do the things we never had~ Ooh Ooh!”_

Shaking his head, Tweek turns to return to the kitchen, to leave Craig to his performance and fun, utterly adorable as it is(in hindsight he should have grabbed his phone to make this both a lovely memory and blackmail material for whenever Craig refuses to do something he’s meant to do).

Craig plucks up his hand, gently drawing him back in, tucking him into his chest and enveloping him in his arms.

In Tweek’s ear he sings softly, his breath tickling his hair, “ _The wild dogs cry out in the night, as they grow restless longing for some solitary company~.”_

“Craig, I need to make dinner,” Tweek protests without heat, covering Craig’s hands with his and squeezing them lovingly. “What’s got into you?” 

He can feel Craig’s grin against his neck, the delicate press of his lips, warm and just a little damp. “I  _know that I must do what's right, as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti~.”_

For a few moments more Tweek lets him hold him, leaning back against his chest, taking in the moment of peace. _“I seek to cure what's deep inside, frightened of this thing that I've become…_ ” Craig delivers the lyrics with surprising drama and emotion, and it elicits a shiver in Tweek that almost, _almost,_ makes him forget all about dinner.

Wiggling free from his arms, Tweek returns to his senses, laughing as he spins away, backing up into the doorway. “I’m going to make _dinner,_  you big dumb idiot,” he says firmly, looking Craig up and down, daring him to challenge him. He sweeps back along the hallway to the kitchen, rolling his eyes when Craig simply continues to sing, his voice fading back in with his footsteps.

 _“It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you!”_ Craig bursts into the kitchen just as Tweek reaches the yet-to-be-chopped vegetables. He tries to ignore the distraction, biting his lower lip, loving every second of this...

Craig swings around the kitchen, completing another few lines of the chorus ( _bless the rains down in Africa)_ , before his attention is drawn straight back to his wonderful (patient) husband, diligently slicing an avocado and pointedly ignoring the silly display. Craig takes him by the waist, nuzzling his nose into his shoulder and taking the knife from his fingers, placing it down.

“ _Hurry boy, he’s waiting there for you_ …” he sings, faint and tender, meaningful. Tweek makes a sound of mock-annoyance, turning to face him. He has an eyebrow quirked, a lot like his lips, a look of gentle amusement.

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

Craig brushes his knuckles over Tweek’s rose pink cheek, slides a thumb over his lips, pressing a kiss there, another, and another. And very softly, breath warm against Tweek’s skin he sings, “he _There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do~”_

Craig cups Tweek’s cheeks, nuzzling his nose, “ _Gonna take some time to do the things we never had~”_

They sway together with the final, waning drum beats, foreheads pressed together. Silly as it is, Tweek finds it a special moment, romantic, intimate in its ridiculousness. A moment they would share with no one else.

Dun dun-dun du-dun-dun-duuun…

Dun dun-dun du-dun-dun-duuun...

Tweek feels a startling rush of feeling, his heart stuttering. “I love you,” he says fiercely, locking eyes. “I _love_ you.”

Craig gives him a toothy grin, wetting his lips. “I love you too, babe. Love you, too.”


End file.
